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This writing was accepted for publication in the May 1996 issue, v79 of cc&d, and was re-releases in 2019 as a 100 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Poetry and Prose” cc&d (v79, 2019 re-release)  You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:  |
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Order this writing in the issue book Among the Debris the cc&d July-Dec. 2019 issues & chapbooks collection book |
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get the 494 page July-Dec. 2019 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:
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When Raymond Manning told me the story of his grandmother driving him around in a car that was propped up on cinder blocks, it reminded me of my grandma.
My abuela never drove a car. She used a horse and buggy until the encroachment of paved roads made it impossible or illegal to use a horse. When the grid pattern of fences and roads were established it precluded even going for a walk unless it was along the side of the road. The practice of pedestrianism was past.
She sold her horse and used her wagon as a flower bed. Her children drove her to church on Sunday and to the farmer’s market on Saturday. She always maintained a large garden for fresh food and to sell and barter vegetables. She grew rows of green chili which needed to be irrigated and aerated. She weeded and kneaded flour for tortillas. Her main job was providing nourishment for eleven children and three grandchildren born of a daughter who died of pneumonia at a young age.
She never learned to speak English. Her children did not speak English until they were enrolled in first grade. No Spanish was allowed at public school.
In good weather my grandmother spent her entire day out of doors. When she rested from hoeing her rows she sat in the shade. She even had a wood stove under a huge cotton wood tree. She exchanged baby sitting services for cords of pine and oak. She collected her kindling from dead branches that fell onto her property. A hatchet was her favorite tool. In her crusted right hand she split wood to fit into the fire trough of the stove. With a hot stove she could prepare seven tortillas at a time, flipping them over with her fingers.
Some summer nights she sat outside in the dark. She did not hook up to electricity. She stayed outdoors until it was time to go to bed. Her last act of the day was to say her rosary, pronouncing the prayers aloud, laying on her back with her head on a pillow.
She always claimed she would die in her sleep. The end came for her after all her children were raised, had joined the military or married and moved out. The end came for her one fall when the harvest was in and the fruit trees had delivered their bounty. The end came at the close of a day of hard work. It was a perfect day with the colors changing and the night turning cool.
My mother found her the next morning, laying on her back, a smile on her face, and the rosary in her hand.
